


Dissolution

by mauzymorn



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, brief mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 15:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7469754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mauzymorn/pseuds/mauzymorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <span class="small">Inspired by this <a href="http://hales-emissary.tumblr.com/post/141950706818/princess-tuna-let-gavin-free-soulmate-au">post</a>.</span>
</p><p>Eggsy went so long not receiving words or marks from his soulmate that he'd begun to think he didn't have one at <em>all</em>. He'd never been so happy to be wrong.</p><p>
  <span class="small"><strong>Edit:</strong> Due to popular demand, this has now been updated with a second chapter from Harry's POV</span>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eggsy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ProdigalQueer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProdigalQueer/gifts).



> For my lovely Spence, because who doesn't love a little bit of fluff every once and awhile? <3

It’d been an accident the first time, swear down. 

Eggsy’d grown up knowing to be careful what he wrote down on himself, because it would never really be for him _alone_. He’d been lectured by his mum that somewhere out there in the great wide world, there was another person that was his perfect match – just for _him_ – and that anything he wrote on his skin would show up on theirs too. 

It’d been an exciting thought, as a young lad. But then he’d gotten older, and started to wonder.

Because, the thing was, his soulmate’s writing never showed up on _his_ skin either – Eggsy had never taken ink to himself, wanting to wait, to see whether or not his soulmate would do it first. Only… nothing had ever come. No words, no cryptic messages, not even a half-forgotten grocery list or even a fucking _doodle_. 

He began to think that maybe he just didn’t _have_ a soulmate, after all. It happened from time to time, to the unlucky few. Wouldn’t have been the _first_ thing for Eggsy to have rotten luck in, if he was being honest. And the more he convinced himself that he didn’t _have_ a match, the less tempted he was to write on himself – what would be point, with no one to answer?

That’s why, when stuck in Geography class – which was absolute fucking _bollocks_ – he hadn’t thought a thing of it when he’d absentmindedly taken ink to his arm out of sheer _boredom_. It hadn’t been words or anything; he’d just sort of started tracing out nonsensical swirly shapes on his skin while listening to old Moller drone on like an endless windbag in the background with half an ear. 

When he’d gone to wash the ink off that night, he frowned a bit in confusion – he didn’t remember adding that pretty flower into the mix – but ultimately shrugged it off when the flower disappeared under soap and water along with the rest of it. Must’ve been more out of it than he’d thought.

* * *

The second time, Eggsy got wise. It would’ve been hard _not_ to.

Dean’d been banging on about how the flat had no fucking food once again – failing to recognize the fact that there was no grub because him and his fucking goons had eaten it all already – and Eggsy’d been sent out to play fetch. They’d all thrown demands at him of what to pick up, and because he _knew_ the consequences would be real fucking painful if he forgot something, he scrambled down a list on the back of his hand with the nearest marker pen. 

It wasn’t until he got to the store that he saw some additions had somehow been made to his list, and he knew for a _fact_ that it sure as fuck hadn’t been him that added them. 

Where he’d scrawled _Red Bull_ , there was a clean line drawn precisely through the words and _**Coffee**_ written in an impossibly neat hand instead. _Burgers_ had been slashed and replaced with _**Beef (for Gods sake, just make your own. It’s healthier)**_. Snorting a bit of a laugh at that, he continued down the list – nearly every bit of junk that been written was now accompanied by healthier alternatives, sometimes with some kind of witty comment included. Down at the bottom, where he’d scrawled _Rizlas_ and _Pick up dope from Jack_ , the items had been almost violently crossed out but were lacking in any added commentary. 

Normally Eggsy would’ve bristled over the disapproval he could somehow feel radiating from that last bit, but at that moment he was instead reeling from the sudden realization that after seventeen years of silence, he was reading words from his soulmate for the first time.

The soulmate that he’d been convinced he didn’t have. _What the fuck_. 

Digging into his pockets, he nearly cried in relief when he laid hands on an old dodgy pen that’d probably seen the wash a few times. Pressing the cold tip to his skin, he hesitated – what should he say? Would this mystery person on the other end even care? Who _were_ they? Why hadn’t they ever written to him before?

_Relax, mate. Ain’t none of it for me._

He waited with a pounding heart, straining his eyes to see if there was any change to all the letters now crowding up the back of his hand. The breath nearly punched out of him when a long line of writing appeared on the flat of his palm.

_**If you’d be so kind to return to using your arm, I would appreciate it. Somewhere easier to cover up, perhaps – I’m afraid my employer would not approve of my having notes to “pick up dope”.** _

Eggsy let out a small huff of a laugh, not even bothering to get offended – he figured it was only a fair thing for his soulmate to ask, really. He was much more interested in the fact that ‘employer’ certainly made it sound like his soulmate was maybe older than him, if they were already working. Of course, there were plenty at his school who worked through the nights to help support their families, but Eggsy couldn’t help but think that his soulmate’s writing sounded far too posh for anything like that. 

_Sure thing, bruv. Or is it ‘dove’ instead?_

_**I am male, if that is what you’re asking.** _

A body crashed into him from behind, pushing their way past him, and Eggsy realized that he’d been caught stock-still blocking the store’s doorway, grinning like an idiot down at his hand. He took one more second to scrawl a messy reply of “ _Me too_ ” before deciding to get down to business before he took too long and earned himself a beating back home. He was only partway through the shopping when all of the words crowding up his hand began disappearing, his soulmate having obviously washed it off – his original grocery list included. Eggsy couldn’t bring himself to be mad that now he ran the risk of forgetting something, since it’d been his fault for putting it in such a visible area in the first place. 

It wasn’t until he’d dumped everything in the kitchen and promptly locked himself in his room that he noticed the dark ink further up his arm, nearer to the crook of his elbow.

_**Pleasure to make your acquaintance.** _

* * *

Eggsy didn’t hear from his soulmate all that often, and it was definitely hit and miss as to when the bloke would choose to reply to something that Eggsy’d written himself. So far, he couldn’t see any real pattern behind the responses, but he was keeping a mental list and was determined to figure it out so that maybe he could get his soulmate to interact with him a little more regularly.

Something about seeing that neat as fuck writing on his skin made him feel a little less alone in the shitty life he was trapped in. 

They’d never exchanged names, him and the other bloke – they’d never even discussed it, really. The other man seemed to be almost _careful_ in what personal details he chose to reveal, and Eggsy could respect that. He didn’t like talking too much about his life, either. One of the few things he’d learned, however, was that his soulmate had an odd love of butterflies. 

_Saw a pretty thing pinned up in a shop today._

He grinned when no response came, somehow getting the overwhelming feeling that his soulmate was waiting for more information. He surreptitiously pushed his sleeve higher to his elbow, making sure what he was doing was hidden by his desk. He was trapped in _art class_ , of all fucking things, and was ready to just about go bonkers with it. Pulling a case of markers closer to the edge of the desk, he brought to mind the memory of the butterfly that he’d seen in the shop window that morning, pinned inside of a frame. He absentmindedly started to sketch the thing, switching up his markers often to try and give it all the [pretty colours](http://oddiant.poatemisepare.ro/wp-content/uploads/Red-Spotted-Purple-600x534.jpg) that the real thing’d had. 

_**A Red-Spotted Purple, limenitis arthemis astyanax. Wherever did you see such a thing?** _

Eggsy grinned to himself, somehow completely unsurprised that his soulmate even knew the proper latin name for it. 

_In a shop across town. Saw it and thought of you._

He almost immediately regretted writing the words without thinking, mentally cursing himself for sounding like a _complete wanker_. There was a small pause, before a reply appeared.

_**What is your favourite colour?** _

Blinking a bit in surprise at the abrupt topic change, he didn’t hesitate much to answer.

_Blue. Any shade, really – I like them all._

_**Roll up your other sleeve, if you are wearing any.** _

Raising a brow, he nevertheless complied and pushed his other sleeve up to meet his elbow as well. He blinked in surprise when lines began sketching themselves out on his skin, the end result some few moments later a gorgeous butterfly in blacks and many pretty [shades of blue](https://all-that-is-interesting.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/blue-morpho.jpg) – it was probably one of the most beautiful things that Eggsy’d ever seen, if he was being honest, and he had the sudden urge to see one of them in real life. 

_It’s gorgeous. What’s it called?_

He felt a bit like a tosser for the words, but he figured that his soulmate wouldn’t judge him for it. 

_**Morpho peleides, or “The Blue Emperor”.** _

When the bell rang, Eggsy skipped out on his lunch in favour for the school’s library instead. He snagged one of the few ancient computers that the building owned, and quickly brought up Google. Photographs of the real butterfly were just as pretty as his soulmate’s sketch had been, and he idly looked to see where it was native to – _Central and South America. Of fucking course._ Well, there was that dream of seeing one in real life dashed. 

He glanced down at his arms once again to check what his soulmate had said the name was of the one Eggsy had drawn, only to see that all words had been washed away – his skin was perfectly unmarked, except for a butterfly on each forearm. His heart gave a hard _thump_ in his chest when he realized that clearly his soulmate had erased the conversation, but had deliberately chosen to preserve their drawings. 

It made him feel warm all over, and just a bit regretful when the marker naturally wore away on its own – both his _and_ his soulmate’s.

* * *

Eggsy was surprised when the seemingly random numbers appeared on his skin one day. 

Not just because they showed up on the back of his hand – which after that first time with the grocery list had _never_ happened – but because it wasn’t like his soulmate to make absent notes like Eggsy sometimes did. Everything that had ever appeared on his skin from the man had quite obviously been put there _deliberately_. Studying the numbers a little more closely, it took him a few moments to realize that there was a pattern to them. Maybe his soulmate was just bored, and giving Eggsy a riddle for fun? Digging out a pen, he figured he may as well play along.

_53869247135_

He waited a bit impatiently for an answer, fairly certain that he’d had it right. When all he received in response was an underwhelming “ _ **?**_ ” his brow scrunched into a frown. 

_That’d be the next number in sequence, wouldn’t it? It fits with the pattern. Did I get it wrong?_

There was a long pause, before his soulmate finally replied.

 _ **You are an absolute fucking genius, my dear.**_

Eggsy’s brows climbed his forehead in surprise; the other man had never called him by pet names before, which hadn’t bothered Eggsy given that they hardly knew each other, so he was sort of a bit shocked to be suddenly seeing one. 

_Thanks?_

_**A silly riddle that someone left for me; I was having the devil of a time figuring it out, and I’m unable to contact a friend of mine at the moment that would have normally done it for me.** _

The entire response seemed just a bit off, but Eggsy was willing to overlook it. Maybe his soulmate just had some really odd friends?

_No worries, mate. Glad to be of service._

* * *

Eggsy was twenty-four, and facing eighteen months in prison. 

He’d hung up after the _really fucking confusing_ ‘customer service’ call, and found himself at a loss for what to do until the Copper came back for him. He picked up the pen that had been left on the desk, debating with himself. Should he? Firming his jaw in determination, he pressed the pen nib to the skin high on the inside of his forearm, where he could easily cover it by rolling down his sleeves again. 

_Ever have the kind of day where you want to say ‘fuck it’ to everything?_

Surprisingly, his soulmate’s answer was almost immediate. 

_**I’m rather having one of those days right now.** _

_Me too._

He hesitated, not really knowing what else to say. He didn’t exactly want to admit to the man that the soulmate he’d been saddled with was about to become an _actual_ convict, but at the same time he was terrified and wanted someone to tell him that _somehow_ everything was gonna turn out alright. 

_I’m scared about something, and I don’t know what to do._

_**Can I be of service?** _

_I doubt it, but thanks. Are you okay?_

He didn’t want to pile his own problems onto the other man when it sounded like he was having a shit day as well. There was a short pause before he received a response. 

_**I’ve had a bit of a shock, but I’ll be fine. Thank you for your worry, my dear. I’ve just been called to a meeting – I won’t be able to respond for some time, I expect. I’m sorry to have to leave you upset like this.** _

Eggsy tamped down on his disappointment, telling himself that it was probably for the best. The Copper would be coming back at any moment, and probably wouldn’t appreciate Eggsy chatting it up through his skin when he was supposed to be isolated anyways. 

_Don’t worry about me, guv. I’ll pull through – I always do._

It turned out that Eggsy himself wouldn’t be left with any time for writing anyways; between his release from prison, his drink with Harry, legging it the fuck off the Estate and to that poncy tailor’s shop, and ending up as a candidate for an _actual fucking spy camp_ sort of cut into his free moments for that day. It wasn’t until he was pulling off his shirt to change for bed in the dorms that night that he spotted the dark ink on his forearm – the words there warming him and cutting through his uncertain fear at his new circumstances.

_**You shall be in my thoughts, regardless.** _

* * *

Charlie was driving him fucking _mental_. 

Their merry band of recruits had been whittled down to six of them, and it seemed like with every moment Charlie was getting a larger and larger urge to go for the fucking gold in being a complete _arsehole_. 

It also didn’t help Eggsy’s mood that after nearly _seven years_ of communication, his soulmate had apparently just fallen off the fucking map. Right when Eggsy really needed him, too – with Harry in Medical out for the count with a coma, he could _really_ use someone to talk to and get his mind off things, but apparently it just wasn’t gonna happen. 

He didn’t know what he’d done to drive his soulmate away, but he kind of wished the wanker would just man up and respond to tell him straight why he’d scarpered. Eggsy’d lost count of how many words he’d scrawled on his skin in the last few months, but he could tell you _exactly_ how many responses he’d gotten – absolutely fucking _zero_. He kept writing anyways, though – mostly out of a spiteful hope that he was annoying the hell out of the man on the receiving end. 

_One of these days, I’m gonna plant that fucker in the ground for putting hands on me._

Just moments ago, Charlie had taken great delight in slamming Eggsy into the solid metal of the dorms’ walls, laughing obnoxiously when Eggsy had struck out in retaliation and been caught for a tongue-lashing by Merlin. He stilled in shock when words began appearing on his arm, the writing looking more messy and cramped than usual, but still achingly familiar. 

_**What has happened? Are you harmed? Have you gone to the police?** _

He blinked, before suddenly realizing how ‘put hands on’ could be interpreted. His reply was cautious, confused as to why his soulmate seemed so concerned when he hadn’t bothered to answer Eggsy in _ages_. 

_I’m fine, guv. Just an arsehole that likes to push me around for giggles. I can hold my own. Where the fuck you been?_

_**My most profuse apologies, my dear. I’m afraid that I wasn’t receiving your messages.** _

Eggsy frowned, unwilling to take the words at face-value.

_That ain’t how these things work, far as I know. Messages always go through. If I did something to piss you off, just fucking come out and say it._

_**I assure you that you’ve done nothing wrong. I’m very sorry, and I understand if you are angry.**_

Eggsy had the feeling that he wasn’t gonna get anything more out of the man, and clenched his jaw in frustration. On the one hand, he was relieved to hear from his soulmate again and to know that it wasn’t anything he’d done… But, on the other hand, he felt like he maybe deserved a better explanation for the absence.

He hadn’t yet thought up a response when Merlin strode over from where he’d been discussing test scores with Roxy to let Eggsy know that he’d just been informed via glasses that Harry was awake in Medical and asking for him.

* * *

Harry’s house was _covered_ in butterflies.

It was one of the first things that had struck Eggsy, even as tired as he’d been in his adrenaline crash from the train test, when he’d shuffled his way in Harry’s front door. It made him think of his soulmate, and that day when he’d still been a teenager in art class. 

“Hey, Harry?” He called distractedly, eyes searching over the frames before him. “Do you know the names of all of these?”

“Of course.” Was the placid reply, and Eggsy got a _great_ idea. 

“D’you have one called a _Blue Emperor_?” He asked, turning around to see the older man’s brow pull into a bit of a frown. 

“As a matter of fact, I do. Why?”

“Can I have a look?” He asked excitedly. “I’ve always wanted to see one in real life.” 

“I’m afraid that one is hung in my bedroom, Eggsy.” He could feel his face fall with his disappointment, assuming that Harry wouldn’t want him invading such a personal space. The older gent let out a bit of a sigh. “Oh, alright. Just try to excuse the mess.” 

As curious as he was to take in the details of Harry’s room, his attention was soon caught by the two frames that hung across from the foot of the bed – each of them home to only a single butterfly. The one on the left held the Blue Emperor that Eggsy had been dreaming about seeing, and he could feel his breath catch at the way the light reflected off all the shiny blues in the creature’s wings. He’d actually started reaching out to touch the frame before he caught himself and pulled his hand back. 

“I hadn’t pegged you as one for butterflies, if you’ll forgive my saying so.” Harry observed, and Eggsy couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him.

“I’m not, really. Just _this_ one.” Harry raised a brow at that.

“Why this one in particular?” His tone was equal parts amused and curious, and Eggsy didn’t mind answering.

“Someone drew this for me one time, just because it was my favourite colour. Always wanted to see one in person since.” When he turned back to Harry again, the older man seemed… off. Eggsy wasn’t sure _how_ , it was just a feeling. Deciding to shrug it away, he looked instead at the frame on the right – letting out a surprised laugh when he recognized the butterfly within it. “Seen this one before though! Passed by a shop when I was bunkin’ off from school one mornin’ and saw one like this in the window. Frame was diff’rent.”

“Is that so?” Harry’s voice was quiet and serious. “A… friend… told me about seeing this particular specimen in a shop on the other side of town years ago, so I decided to add it to my collection.” Eggsy blinked at him, before a grin pulled it’s way onto his face.

“Huh. Ain’t that a funny coincidence, yeah?”

“Yes… quite the coincidence.” 

Later that night, after too many martinis and tucked in cozily to the sheets of Harry’s guest bed, Eggsy scrawled a sloppy message to his soulmate.

_Finally got to see that butterfly you drew me ages ago. Bloke I know has it side-by-side with the same one I drew you, ain’t that funny? You’d probably get along, you and him._

_**Go to sleep, Eggsy.** _

He complied readily, the thought occurring to him in his muzzy state that he didn’t think he’d ever told his soulmate his name. But he must have, because how else would the man know it?

* * *

The world had gone to shit, and Eggsy couldn’t bring himself to care about any of it. 

He was in Harry’s house, drunk off Harry’s expensive booze, and currently making an absolute _tit_ of himself by wearing a faded and obviously well-loved jumper that he’d found in the hamper in Harry’s bedroom. He didn’t care. It smelled like Harry and that’s all that mattered. 

His discarded Kingsman glasses chimed at him from the coffee table, and he ignored it. _Again_. Harry was dead, his soulmate wasn’t answering him and most likely was gone as well, and Eggsy felt like he was all alone in the world once more. He raised a hand to wipe at the useless tears that were welling in his eyes, and rigidly brought his arm to a halt when he saw it.

_**Thank you for bringing warmth into my life.** _

Eggsy’s heart started racing, knowing that this meant that at least his soulmate was still alive somewhere. He scrambled for a writing tool of any kind, his letters coming out messy in his panic and haste.

_Where are you? Are you alright? I thought you’d gone and died on me too. Thank fucking Christ, I need you so bad right now. Everything’s fucked._

The reply, when it came, was made out one painstakingly slow letter at a time, and Eggsy found his breath catch in worry. Clearly his soulmate was hurt – _badly_.

_**Might I trouble you to come fetch me, Eggsy?** _

He frowned at the use of his name, recalling that his soulmate had used it once before – despite the fact that Eggsy didn’t think he’d ever actually told it to the other man.

_Where are you?_

_**Baptist Health Hospital, in Kentucky.** _

Eggsy stopped breathing altogether. He shakily reached out a hand for the abandoned glasses, slipping them on and hailing Merlin in a daze.

“It’s about _bloody_ time – ”

“Merlin… I think Harry’s alive.” His voice was wooden in his shock, but it was enough to bring the Scotsman’s cursing to an abrupt halt. 

“Explain, lad.” So he did. He told Merlin everything, from the first time he’d received writing from his soulmate to the request for retrieval from Kentucky. 

“Merlin… Merlin I never told my soulmate my name. But now he’s used it twice. I… I think…”

“I believe you think _right_ , lad. I clearly remember catching Harry with butterflies drawn on his arms several years ago.” He swallowed harshly at the confirmation, his head swirling awfully while he tried to process the fact that the man he’d been ‘talking’ to all these years was actually _Harry fucking Hart_. 

Jesus fuck – Harry was his _soulmate_. 

He ran out the door, heading towards the Kingsman shop and not bothering to change out of Harry’s jumper.

* * *

“ _Merlin!_ ” The Quartermaster sighed as Harry crashed into his office.

“Where are they holding him?” He asked tiredly. Rather than replying, Harry held out an arm that had his shirt sleeve rolled to the elbow. The writing upon it was messy and a little bit mangled, due to the fact that Eggsy had more than likely written while his hands had been behind his back. “You must admit, this whole soulmate business is convenient for retrieving wayward agents.” Harry sent the other man his most unimpressed look.

“Just get my husband home in one piece.”


	2. Harry

The first time it happened, Harry nearly tripped over his coffee table.

One couldn’t really blame him for his shock, since he’d somehow reached the distinguished age of forty-three without ever _once_ receiving a message of some kind from his soulmate. If one was to be perfectly honest, he’d rather assumed that he didn’t _have_ a soulmate – he’d gone most of his life with no indication of one, after all. 

When he’d been younger, Harry had been rather excited about the idea that there was a person somewhere in the world that was singularly meant for _him_ and him alone. As a foolish teenager with a secretly romantic heart, he’d positively _filled_ his skin with words, drawings, and the like – when he hit the age of twenty with never once receiving a reply, he gave himself a rather stern talking-to and never pressed ink to his skin again. 

It was rather pointless, was it not?

The years of silence had rather worn off the rose-coloured tint to his glasses, you could say. In any case, it made being a Kingsman agent all the easier, for not having someone to be accountable to. (Or, at least, that is what he liked to tell himself.)

That was why, while pushing up the sleeves of his favourite jumper with the intent to finally _do something_ about the state of his living room on his day off, he nearly landed himself in A &E by tripping over his table. He’d been quite distracted, you see, by the wealth of delicately swirling shapes that had somehow appeared across his forearm.

It was a beautiful design, though seeming somehow _absentminded_ at the same time, and Harry had the errant thought through his shock that perhaps his soulmate was some kind of artist? Not bothering to think too hard about his actions, he scrambled for a pen and decided to add a flower in where there was a break in the pattern. 

He waited for his soulmate to notice the addition, to perhaps realize that Harry was _there_ and send him a message, but the afternoon passed with no response, and no further drawings.

Harry tried to tell himself that it was maybe for the best.

* * *

The second time, he couldn’t help himself.

Harry had never been an overly _patient_ sort of fellow, so when the writing appeared on the back of his hand while he was trapped in the bullet train to HQ, he made the abrupt decision that _this_ time he would make it clear to his soulmate that they had company. He dug out a Kingsman pen – being _very_ careful to ensure that it was currently set to _normal_ ink, of course – and began to read through what his soulmate was leaving him.

A… grocery list?

A small smile pulling at his mouth, he drew a crisp line through _Red Bull_ and decided to replace it instead with _**Coffee**_. The next item on the list was _Burgers_ , and he found himself tutting over his soulmate’s apparent eating habits. He replaced the word with _**Beef (for Gods sake, just make your own. It’s healthier)**_ and could hardly refrain from making similar judgments over the majority of the items on his soulmate’s list. When he reached the bottom of the list and saw _Rizlas_ and _Pick up dope from Jack_ , Harry could feel his face turn to a disapproving frown, crossing out the items almost violently but refraining from any comments that he might have made. 

He’d already once had the errant thought that perhaps his soulmate was some sort of artist, and he wasn’t _so_ out of the times not to know that some artists seemed to rely on such things for their ‘creativity’, but Harry found himself almost disappointed with his soulmate regardless. 

He was nearly to the mansion grounds before any kind of reply appeared, and Harry had been worried that his soulmate was going to just ignore his existence once again. 

_Relax, mate. Ain’t none of it for me._

Somehow, he actually did feel his shoulders loosen at the assurance. He couldn’t help a small grin at the realization that the syntax of his soulmate’s writing indicated that they were perhaps of a working class background, and Harry internally breathed a sigh of relief. If he’d been stuck with some snobby twat with ideals more in line with _Chester King_ , he might have had to do damage to someone. 

_**If you’d be so kind to return to using your arm, I would appreciate it. Somewhere easier to cover up, perhaps – I’m afraid my employer would not approve of my having notes to “pick up dope”.**_

Though Harry would be _thoroughly_ amused to see Chester’s reaction to such a thing, his main concern was that his soulmate would begin leaving him visible notes while he was out on missions – that would be terribly inconvenient, if not outright _dangerous_ to his health. 

_Sure thing, bruv. Or is it ‘dove’ instead?_

Harry blinked a bit, not having put much thought into the gender of his soulmate, if they had a gender at all. 

_**I am male, if that is what you’re asking.** _

_Me too._

Oh. Well that sorted that, then. He could feel the bullet train beginning to slow, indicating that he was almost at the hangar. Hurriedly rolling up a sleeve, he carefully wrote out a final message to his soulmate, fully intending to wash the rest off before anyone else caught sight. 

_**Pleasure to make your acquaintance.** _

* * *

Harry didn’t initiate contact with his soulmate all that often, though it didn’t seem to deter the other man from sending messages of his own. His busy life as a Kingsman agent prevented him from having much time for chatting, but he was grateful that his soulmate had seemed to take his request to heart – every message or small drawing that Harry received had been in areas easily covered, since that day. 

He was secretly pleased that the other man didn’t seem to be easily offended by his almost-silence; though one could argue that Harry lead an extraordinarily exciting life – and he _did_ , by all means – it was just that when home in his off-time… Well. His house was rather _quiet_. Something about seeing his soulmate’s slightly messy scrawl helped Harry to feel less alone, as it were. 

He was very careful in what personal details he revealed to his soulmate, nevertheless. Given the nature of his _career_ , it was an unfortunate necessity. He’d never even told the other man his _name_ , though to be fair the intimate details of his soulmate’s life were few and far between as well. 

Harry was sat in his office, sleeves rolled to his elbows and shoulder holsters a comforting weight on his body, drinking a glass of scotch and cursing the necessity of having to write reports. The mission he’d just completed had been a difficult one – the kind of mission that left you questioning all faith in humanity and whether there actually _was_ still goodness in the world. He was in the process of raising a hand to rub his brow tiredly when he noticed the writing. 

_Saw a pretty thing pinned up in a shop today._

More than willing to be distracted from the task at hand, Harry took a sip of his scotch and waited to see if his soulmate would give him more details. He blinked in surprise when instead of more words, a design began tracing itself out on his forearm. He watched raptly as a plethora of lines and colour eventually shaped into a… butterfly. Harry could feel a pleased grin growing on his face, picking up his pen.

_**A Red-Spotted Purple, limenitis arthemis astyanax. Wherever did you see such a thing?** _

It hadn’t been terribly difficult to work out that his soulmate was also from London, and he’d already mentioned that he’d seen the butterfly ‘pinned up in a shop’. Perhaps Harry would be able to go purchase the creature?

_In a shop across town. Saw it and thought of you._

Despite himself, Harry drew in a sharp breath. The words warmed him against the numbing coldness that his hellish mission had left him with, and he found himself with the urge to somehow _thank_ his soulmate for the reminder that there really _were_ beautiful things – and people – left upon the earth. 

_**What is your favourite colour?** _

_Blue. Any shade, really – I like them all._

Harry knew the perfect butterfly for his soulmate – he could just _feel_ it. Digging around in a drawer for some long-forgotten marker pens, he thanked the universe for making him ambidextrous.

_**Roll up your other sleeve, if you are wearing any.** _

He turned to his other arm, sketching out the butterfly to the best of his ability from memory alone – he was far too lazy to go down the stairs and fetch the frame housing said butterfly from the kitchen. He was pleased with his effort upon its completion, and waited anxiously for his soulmate’s reply. Harry was no artist like the other man, after all. 

_It’s gorgeous. What’s it called?_

_**Morpho peleides, or “The Blue Emperor”.**_

When he received no reply, Harry felt a bit disappointed, but decided that it was probably for the best – Merlin was due to be hailing him for a video conference soon, after all. He moved to the downstairs bath, turning the tap and grabbing his soap, but found himself hesitating. The conference with Merlin was bound to be difficult, since they would be hashing over the details of that horrid mission, and Harry was reluctant to let go of the warmth his soulmate had brought to him so soon. 

He carefully washed away the remenants of their conversation, but made sure not to interfere with the butterflies. Fuck it – everyone always thought that Harry was a bit of an odd duck anyways. Merlin raised a bit of a brow at him when he first glanced the drawings in the video feed, but he was a good friend and chose not to comment about the decoration. 

That evening, Harry returned home victorious from his hunt across London for the butterfly that had so caught his soulmate’s eye – the frame that housed it was _horridly_ ugly, and Harry already had new one to change it to. One that would perfectly match the frame surrounding his Blue Emperor from the kitchen; and he allowed himself a bit of whimsy when he hung the two side-by-side at the foot of his bed, where he could easily see them. 

Harry was a bit sad when the ink of the butterflies on his arms wore away on its own, but was bolstered by the realization that his soulmate had apparently been just as reluctant to wash them away as well.

* * *

Harry was in _deep_ shit. 

He was trapped in the ass-end of Bulgaria, his Kingsman glasses utterly destroyed and therefore _completely_ cut off from Merlin and any assistance, a bullet lodged somewhere in his lower chest that was still bleeding sluggishly, and a computer in front of him that he needed to break into.

The computer was protected by some sort of numerical _puzzle_ – it displayed a series of numbers that flashed across the screen periodically, and presumably the password had something to do with those numbers. The numbers kept rotating off the screen too quickly for Harry’s strained thinking abilities, and he knew that he was never going to be able to figure it out if he didn’t write them down so as to properly examine it all. He dug out a Kingsman pen – one of his few weapons left – and hastily scrawled the numbers as they flashed by on the back of his hand. 

It was here that Harry realized that he was going to fail his mission and fucking _die_ , because writing it down hadn’t helped him one whit – it still made no sense to him. 

He’d honestly forgotten for a moment that the writing would have transmitted to his soulmate, until he saw a new string of numbers appear below the others. 

_53869247135_

He blinked down in confusion, wondering if his soulmate had thought he was just writing random nonsense and was playing along. He decided the safest route would be to send back a simple “ _ **?**_ ”.

_That’d be the next number in the sequence, wouldn’t it? It fits with the pattern. Did I get it wrong?_

Harry looked it all over again and was slightly shocked to see that yes, _now_ he could divine the pattern to the numbers. He typed in his soulmate’s answer to the computer and held his breath, laughing triumphantly when it worked.

_**You are an absolute fucking genius, my dear.**_

His soulmate would never know that he’d just utterly saved Harry’s hide – he most assuredly would be dead without the other man right now. Still giddy with relief while he began the process of sending the information to Merlin (while also sneakily adding in a request for retrieval and medical assistance), he glanced down and saw his soulmate’s reply.

_Thanks?_

Realizing that the whole thing was probably coming off as _very_ strange to the other man, Harry scrambled for an explanation – any explanation but the _truth_ , that is. 

_**A silly riddle that someone left for me; I was having the devil of a time figuring it out, and I’m unable to contact a friend of mine at the moment that would have normally done it for me.** _

As explanations go, it was fairly half-assed, but it would have to do. 

_No worries, mate. Glad to be of service._

It wasn’t until he was resting comfortably in a bed in Medical that Harry realized he’d used the words ‘my dear’. He’d refrained from using such terminology before with his soulmate, as he was certain that his own attachment to the man at that point in time was most assuredly not the same as the other’s – Harry lived a rather _lonely_ life, when all was said and done, and surely his soulmate had many lovely friends and acquaintances to share his time with. Harry very much doubted that his soulmate felt so… _reliant_ on him as well.

* * *

Harry was fifty years old, and he was feeling _tired_. 

He’d learned that morning of Lancelot’s – _James’_ – demise, Chester was pressuring him to produce a candidate for the position already, and the whole affair was bringing to mind memories of Lee that Harry would really have much preferred to stay buried. He was just rolling up his sleeves tiredly in his office when he spotted words forming. 

_Ever have the kind of day where you want to say ‘fuck it’ to everything?_

Harry knew the feeling well. He grabbed for his pen, replying immediately. 

_**I’m rather having one of those days right now.** _

_Me too._

Though he felt sorry that his soulmate was also troubled, he couldn’t quite help the thought that at least they were feeling like this _together_. Misery loves company, and all that. He felt his brow pull into a concerned frown at his soulmate’s elaboration.

_I’m scared about something, and I don’t know what to do._

_**Can I be of service?** _

_I doubt it, but thanks. Are you okay?_

He couldn’t prevent the snort of amusement that dragged out of him at the ‘I doubt it’, as Harry was fairly certain that no matter _what_ it was that was bothering his soulmate, his status as a Kingsman agent could more than likely help. It wasn’t as if Harry could _tell_ the man that, however. He felt a flush of warmth at his soulmate’s obvious concern for him, though – he was about to reply when his glasses brought up a call from Elena at HQ.

“Agent Galahad, I’ve a matter of import for you.” He suppressed his tired sigh. Honestly, what now.

“Go on.”

“Gary Unwin has just called in his favour, sir. He is at Holborn Police Station, and appears to be facing an eighteen-month sentence for automotive theft and destruction of property.” Harry found himself utterly disappointed in the man’s son; at least going to fetch the boy would serve to be a distraction from all the rest. 

“Send along the details.” He turned his attention back down to his arm, feeling regret that he more than likely wouldn’t have time for conversing.

_**I’ve had a bit of a shock, but I’ll be fine. Thank you for your worry, my dear. I’ve just been called to a meeting – I won’t be able to respond for some time, I expect. I’m sorry to have to leave you upset like this.**_

_Don’t worry about me, guv. I’ll pull through – I always do._

Suddenly, facing the rest of the day seemed so much more bearable; Harry would forever be grateful to his soulmate, for always making things seem alright when at their worst – even if it was unintentional. 

_**You shall be in my thoughts, regardless.** _

* * *

Harry awoke from his coma _roughly_ , to say the least. 

His first thought was of Eggsy, which he felt slightly guilty for when he glanced down and saw words appearing from his soulmate. He felt his sluggish brain coming online _much_ more quickly when panic began to take over at the words he was reading, however.

_One of these days, I’m gonna plant that fucker in the ground for putting hands on me._

Good Lord, what in the bloody hell had been happening while he was out? Someone had _dared_ to assault _his_ soulmate in some way? He glanced anxiously at the date clock on the small table beside the bed, noting that he’d apparently been asleep for… _months_. Oh dear. He scrambled for the pen that was affixed to the top of his chart at the foot of his bed. 

_**What has happened? Are you harmed? Have you gone to the police?** _

His writing was not quite its usual neatness, but he was sure that the other man would overlook such a thing. He breathed a sigh of relief when his soulmate replied promptly.

_I’m fine, guv. Just an arsehole that likes to push me around for giggles. I can hold my own. Where the fuck you been?_

Harry couldn’t help but feel remorse that he’d left the man in silence for _ages_ – but there was simply no plausible explanation that he was going to be able to give for his absence. 

_**My most profuse apologies, my dear. I’m afraid that I wasn’t receiving your messages.** _

In a way, it was true – simply that Harry hadn’t been _awake_ to receive them. He sighed miserably, tugging the sleeve of the dressing gown he was clad in lower to hide the writing when the nurse on duty appeared. 

“Oh! Galahad, you’re awake!” 

“Yes, could you please inform the doctors, as I’m sure they’ll want to have a good look at me. Also, if you could pass along the message to Merlin that I would like to speak to my candidate as soon as possible.” The nurse blinked at him in surprise, but smiled readily. 

“How’d you know that your candidate made it to the top six?” Harry raised one brow archly.

“I never had any doubt that Eggsy would persevere in my absence.” He shoved the sleeve of the dressing gown back up as the nurse left to send his message.

_That ain’t how these things work, far as I know. Messages always go through. If I did something to piss you off, just fucking come out and say it._

_**I assure you that you’ve done nothing wrong. I’m very sorry, and I understand if you are angry.** _

Harry sincerely hoped that the man would eventually be able to forgive him. Perhaps Eggsy would be a bit happier to see him.

* * *

Harry delighted in the open astonishment that Eggsy showed upon viewing his house for the first time. He was surprised to note that the boy’s attention seemed to be rather fixed upon his many framed butterflies. 

“Hey, Harry?” Eggsy’s voice sounded a bit distracted, but he chose not to take offense. “Do you know the names of all of these?” 

“Of course.” He replied, assuming that soon Eggsy would dismiss the odd collection and move on to something else.

“D’you have one called a _Blue Emperor_?” The boy asked instead, startling Harry even as the words turned his thoughts to his soulmate. 

“As I matter of fact, I do. Why?” He asked curiously, a small smile wishing to pull onto his lips at the open excitement that Eggsy showed. 

“Can I have a look?” It was rather putting one in mind of a bouncing puppy, to be perfectly honest. “I’ve always wanted to see one in real life.” 

“I’m afraid that one is hung in my bedroom, Eggsy.” Though Harry was sorry to see the boy’s excitement dim, he felt that it was just not appropriate. He had every intention of remaining firm on that, but… Well, Eggsy _had_ just done so very well on the train test. Harry’d been very proud of him. And his excitement over the butterfly _was_ rather putting Harry in mind of his soulmate’s appreciation for his drawing that long ago day… He sighed. “Oh, alright. Just try to excuse the mess.” 

The absolute _wonder_ that overtook Eggsy’s face upon first seeing the creature in its frame was quite the sight. Harry could feel his expression _softening_ , despite himself. He had the errant thought that perhaps his soulmate and Eggsy would get along, should they ever actually meet. He watched as the boy reached out to touch the frame, before seeming to catch himself and pull away again. 

“I hadn’t pegged you as one for butterflies, if you’ll forgive my saying so.” He couldn’t help but observe, hoping that Eggsy wouldn’t get offended over his comment. He assumed he was in the clear when the boy chuckled. 

“I’m not, really. Just _this_ one.” Harry could feel himself growing curious.

“Why this one in particular?” 

“Someone drew this for me one time, just because it was my favourite colour. Always wanted to see one in person since.” Harry could positively _feel_ the expression on his face freeze. Surely… surely he was drawing connections where none existed. There was _no possible way_ that what he was thinking was true. Eggsy turned his eyes to the frame on the right and let out an incredulous laugh. “Seen this one before though! Passed by a shop when I was bunkin’ off from school one mornin’ and saw one like this in the window. Frame was diff’rent.” 

It was… not possible. It _couldn’t_ be.

“Is that so?” Harry eventually replied. “A… friend… told me about seeing this particular specimen in a shop on the other side of town years ago, so I decided to add it to my collection.” He watched Eggsy’s face carefully, but when the boy merely blinked at him and seemed to think nothing of the statement, he told himself that he’d been imagining things after all.

“Huh. Ain’t that a funny coincidence, yeah?”

“Yes… quite the coincidence.”

It was later that night, after far too many martinis and Eggsy had retired to the guest room, that Harry was given confirmation of his earlier thoughts.

_Finally got to see that butterfly you drew me ages ago. Bloke I know has it side-by-side with the same one I drew you, ain’t that funny? You’d probably get along, you and him._

And that quite sealed it, didn’t it? On the one hand, Harry was relieved that there was apparently _no_ reason for his guilty feelings concerning his growing affection for Eggsy – but on the other hand, this presented a _very big_ fucking problem. 

_**Go to sleep, Eggsy.** _

He responded absently, mind still swirling with all the possible implications of the situation. One thing was abundantly clear – the tenuous situation he found himself in with all of this Valentine business would put the boy at risk, should the wrong people discover that he was Harry’s soulmate. There was only one solution then… _No one_ must know about the connection, including Eggsy himself. 

Harry washed off the conversation before retiring, remaining hopelessly awake as he stared at the colourful figures at the foot of his bed.

* * *

For the second time that year, Harry found himself waking up in a hospital bed. 

He learned from the nurses that Valentine’s horrid plan had been successful – if only for a few minutes. But oh, what destruction those few minutes had wrought. The world was still full of dead, the heaviness of mourning hanging above them all. 

Harry thought instantly of Eggsy – of their disastrous fight, of words meant to claw and tear and harm, of making a promise that he’d come _so fucking close_ to never being able to fulfill. He worried about Eggsy’s survival; where had the young man been when the signal went off? Had he been safely ensconced in Harry’s home, or had he returned to his mother’s flat and met the end of his step-father’s blade once and for all? Was he _alive_?

The idea that Eggsy hadn’t survived the destruction was almost too much for Harry to bear. 

This simplest solution seemed to be to write to him; either Harry would receive a response and be assured, or instead would get only silence and a broken soul in return. But what to write? To mark down a question that had the potential to never be answered didn’t sit right with him. Instead, Harry settled on something else – words that Eggsy deserved to have, whether he was alive to read them or not. 

_**Thank you for bringing warmth into my life.**_

He waited with caught breath, afraid to hope, but even more afraid _not_ to. 

_Where are you? Are you alright? I thought you’d gone and died on me too. Thank fucking Christ, I need you so bad right now. Everything’s fucked._

Harry was equal parts relieved to have received an answer at all, and worried for his soulmate. Eggsy’s words came across frantic, and ‘died on me too’ was certainly giving Harry some pause – was that because Merlin had no doubt informed Eggsy of his own ‘death’ at some point, or because _others_ had died? 

It didn’t matter. These were all questions that could be answered once he was back home on British soil. He forced himself to focus on each painstaking letter of his reply, the throbbing in his head not making the task an easy one. 

_**Might I trouble you to come fetch me, Eggsy?** _

_Where are you?_

_**Baptist Health Hospital, in Kentucky.** _

He waited, but received no further responses. It didn’t bother Harry – surely the boy was busy attempting to contact Merlin. Sleep pulled at him heavily once again, only to be disturbed some hours later by a hoarse voice at his bedside.

“D’you know how many fucking _Baptist Health Hospitals_ are in Kentucky, you complete fucking _wanker_?!” Harry cracked open his eyes, greeted with the beautiful sight of Eggsy’s face – nose pink and eyes watering, but a grin splitting his lips. 

He was cozily ensconced in Harry’s favourite jumper, despite the Kentucky heat, and Harry had never felt more like he was home.

* * *

Eggsy smirked as he watched the helicopter land.

The warehouse behind him was currently merrily crackling with flames, the morons that had thought they could hold him having learned their lesson – _painfully_. He pulled out a Kingsman pen, keeping one eye on the figures moving about in the aircraft.

He turned to the back of his hand, taking the time to draw out a cartoonish heart and two little butterflies within it. He grinned when he noticed one of the figures look at the back of their own hand, and waited.

Harry was just as gorgeous as he’d always been when he stepped off the helicopter and began striding over to Eggsy with a smile of his own.

“Hello, husband o’ mine.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [tumblr](http://mauzymorn.tumblr.com)!


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